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2014-01-13 - Cutscene: Leave a Message at the Tone
Bludhaven, Zee More Projects The old man stumbled and the thugs, descended. “Give us your wallet,” one of them leered down, a knife glinting in his hand while the others three circled him. Four guys to rob an old man, your Zee More Kings ladies and gentleman. Clint watched the gangsters from the back of his Skycycle. He wore his SHIELD get up tonight, since this wasn’t strictly legal and he didn’t want his Avenger persona tainted with it. Not that there was much separation between Hawkeye and Clint Barton, not after the very public arrests in his past. Still, it was the thought that counted right. The old man looked up, eyes wide. “Here,” he says reaching with shaking hands into his pocket. He got a kick in the gut and a warning “Slowly, don’t try nuthin’” That was enough, Clint grabbed an arrow from his quiver and fired, the kicker got an arrow in his knee. There was a reference in there somewhere, but Clint wasn’t in a quipping mood, what with Adam running off with the Titans and the massive Newt hangover he had. The wannabe gangsters turn, and Clint has more arrows for them. Two drop twitching with Taser arrows in them, the last one runs for it and Clint lets him go. He’d fished his limit. He sets the skycycle down and hops off, to go help the old man to his feet. “You alright?” he asks. “Who are you? Nightwing?” the old man asks. Clint shakes his head. “Nah, but I’m looking for him.” He moves to the gangsters, the one guy with an arrow in his knee twitches and curses. Clint draws a third Taser arrow from his quiver and gives him a poke. The cursing stops. Then with a sigh, Clint pulls some zap straps out of his pocket and then ties up the stunned gangsters before rifling through their pockets. “Cops going to come if I call?” he asks the old man. “Eventually,” he replies watching now out of morbid curiosity. “Heh,” Clint says before he finds what he’s looking for, a cellphone, he dial 911 and drops it on the stack of gangsters. “Better get going before that one guy brings friends,” he advises the old man as he reaches into a pouch and pulls out a note. It’s hand written and reads: NIGHTWING, CALL ME 347-555-2231. He’d left one like it with the mugger in the business district, and the Russian pimp he’d hit in the Spine. Bludhaven really didn’t lack for criminals. He could see why Nightwing would be hard to find. “Got to be an easier way to leave a message,” the old man says. “Did you try the phone book?” Clint shoots the old man a smile as he gets on his sky cycle again. “Yeah, but I’m bored and it looks like the place could use the clean-up, anyhow get going, I’ll watch from upstairs until you’re gone.” Then with that he flips some switches and the sky-cycle returns to the sky.